


The Letters of a Dead Man

by HawkSong



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aether Sex (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, lots of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24425923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawkSong/pseuds/HawkSong
Summary: Marius, the "wandering minstrel," offers comfort to Berylla
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	The Letters of a Dead Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bonus chapter of a sort for my longer work "Aren't You Cold?"  
> The events here take place directly after Chapter 53 of that fic!
> 
> Link to Chapter 53 here:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978672/chapters/58910281

Marius read quietly, watching from the corner of his eye as Berylla curled up, half leaning against the wall of the cabin, her arms curled around herself. She listened with her eyes half closed, her sunset-red hair tangled and partly hiding her expression. But he could read her as easily as the letter in his hands. She was unhappy, unbalanced, struggling with things she didn't – or maybe couldn't – talk about.

“That business with Francel is cleared up. He was _most_ appreciative. Given how reserved his sister is, I hadn't expected such a heartfelt – nay, _passionate!_ \- expression of gratitude. I wasn't expecting that he'd have an oral fixation, either.”

Berylla seemed to choke a little at that comment, and her cheeks turned pink. But she didn't speak.

“But as surprising – more so in some ways – was the woman who directly saved Francel. Had she not been there, Aymeric – well, I'd be penning a letter of regrets to Lord Haillenarte, rather than writing to you.”

Marius skipped over a line or two, getting back to what he figured was the more important subject at hand – this Haurchefant fellow's thoughts on the Warrior of Light.

“She fights like a demon. But she also flings herself into the fray without a single thought for herself, the moment that an innocent is threatened. I was _quite_ impressed. Keep an eye out for news of this one. You'll be hearing stories about Berylla Seahawk, I predict, soon enough. She's also beautiful, and quite charming. Incredibly shy – which only added to the charm. I tell you, she was certainly memorable.”

Berylla's eyes opened slightly, her cheeks pink again. “Well. At least Aymeric wasn't fibbing about the letters not being...explicit.” She gave Marius a look as if expecting him to heap abuse or mockery on her. He simply folded that letter, put it back in its box, and began to read the next one.

“Yes, I too heard of her exploits. Having seen her in action myself, I well believe the stories. So should you. Things are heating up here. I'm quite willing to lend support to these new neighbors down in Revenant's Toll – with or without the blessing of the Holy See. But the heretics are becoming a worry. They've moved from harrying our patrols in the usual way to more direct, and more widespread, harassment. I don't suppose there's anything you can do? Waft a little of that charm of yours at the necessary people, get me a few more men for Dragonhead?”

Berylla listened to that one with both eyes open, and laughed a little. But her chuckle was tinged with sadness. “And then Aymeric came to Dragonhead and wafted charm at me. I almost miss those days, when the worst I had to deal with was sneaky, crazy heretics and the danger of frostbite.”

Marius cocked his head at her. “And what is the worst you deal with now?”

“Losing every friend I ever had,” she answered, almost as if talking to herself. “I didn't know how much I needed them until they were gone. And even with them back it's not...the same. I fucked up, Marius. I really fucked up. There's no making it right.” Then she clamped her lips shut. He waited, but she remained silent, and he moved on to the next letter.

“You will not _believe_ what happened. She's done something to me, Aymeric. I don't quite understand it.”

He noted with interest how she seemed to hunch in on herself. Her hands curled into fists.

“I understand her being jealous. You know what I usually do about the jealous ones. I was all set to handle her. But before I could say a word, she was already apologizing.”

Her eyes closed, and he saw the dampness on her cheeks, though her shoulders didn't shake.

“She tried to say good-bye, herself, before I'd even spoken. I don't know how she knew already that I'm not the sort of man who settles to one lover. But she set her own need aside and tried to back off...and I do mean need. I could _feel_ it in her, how badly she needed me. I knew she'd been up all night – and the day before – she must have been half out of her mind. And yet...she thought only of _me_. Of how she had wronged _me_. How powerful a sense of justice must this woman have, Aymeric, to think first of letting go that way – while _still_ being insanely jealous?”

He hesitated before reading the next lines.

“She's incredible. No, I need to get her out of my head. Maybe Francel...or perhaps I need to pay _you_ a visit.”

He could hear her soft sob, and let her be for a moment, making a big production out of folding up the letter and setting it in the box.

“Why were you jealous, if I might ask?”

“He was with Aymeric. I didn't...I hadn't known, before that, that Haurchefant was, um...flexible.”

Marius thought about that. “Oh.”

She sat up a little, scrubbing at her face. “I'll admit, if I'd known before that about Haurchefant also – being with – Francel...maybe it wouldn't have been as much of a shock. And I was so angry...”

“At him being with another?”

“There was a lot of shit going through my head,” she sighed. “But believe it or not, it wasn't so clear cut as all that. I wanted Aymeric, I wanted Haurchefant, I was incredibly horny, Marius. And I didn't know how to handle any of it. I'd assumed Haurchefant and I were...kind of a thing. I shouldn't have assumed that, but I had, and I was furious with myself for that assumption. I was furious with myself for being jealous in the first place. I was...just...so frustrated.”

“And did he accept your apology?”

Her face turned red. “Yes. I'm not giving you those details though, you pervert.”

He laughed aloud. “I'm hardly asking for prurient, sordid stories of your bedroom escapades, Seahawk.”

She didn't know how easy it was for him to see her, how much he could see without even trying. The images flitting through her memory were powerfully erotic. He shifted his weight a little, adjusting as his body reacted to what he saw floating across her thoughts.

He rattled the papers a little, and began the next letter.

“I'm rather cross with you, and not terribly happy with Lucia either. I'm told Lucia very nearly assaulted Berylla. I don't care why. I need you to make sure it doesn't happen again. If nothing else, on the principle that guests of mine should not need to fear such treatment.”

Berylla coughed, and he looked up at her. She was grinning, but there was a bitterness behind the smile. “She barely roughed me up, but yeah. That was...I wasn't the only jealous woman in the keep that day.”

“Though I'm sure Berylla would tell me she doesn't need my protection. Even though someone ought to save her from herself...she's too damn heroic for her own good. A knight lives to serve, but there _are_ limits. I still shudder to think of her fighting that damned primal – with nothing but a handful of lesser sell-swords at her side.”

She shook her head, and Marius glanced at her. “He was unhappy about my fighting Shiva. Yelled at me about it, in fact.”

He nodded and kept reading.

“It troubles me deeply. She's not a knight, she's a sell-sword. She's exceptional, but she...”

“What?”

Marius peered at the paper. “A sentence has been scratched out; I can't make out what it might have said here.”

“Oh. That's...huh.”

Marius shrugged, and took up reading again when the words were once more legible.

“She's invading my heart, Aymeric. I didn't want this. I've never obsessed over someone, you know that. But I can't avoid thinking about her, every day. Hells! I even thought about her when visiting Francel.”

He saw Berylla put her hands over her face, but he could still see her blushing.

“And _you_. You passed up your chance with her. I really can't understand why you made me stop, why you insisted that we merely sleep. She wasn't that drunk, surely. And was she not sweet? You can't deny how amazing she is, Aymeric, not now.”

He glanced up, and had to swallow hard. Berylla looked like she might faint, and the things in her head now were – holy hells. His member thumped against his pants, and he had to spend a moment forcing his body to quiet down. If she had any notion that he could “hear” her, she'd probably throw herself off this island out of pure mortification.

On to the next letter, he told himself. And calm down.

This letter was written in much poorer handwriting than before, as if Haurchefant had been struggling with every line. Marius read slower, one eye on Berylla. The words flowed like poetry, and he found himself bending his talents to make it nearly a song.

She was here again last night.

She came to me weeping, begging me to hold her. Just to hold her.

I've never had a friend in my bed and only held them.

She cried herself to sleep in my arms, Aymeric. Mourning a fallen comrade. I've lost comrades and friends in plenty, and never once have I felt a fraction of the grief she showed me.

I'm not made to be a loyal lover. But last night, damn if she didn't make me wish I were.

She isn't asking me to change. She isn't making any demands of me, really. But for the first time in my life, I thought about trying...and I can't do it. I can't change who I am.

What has she done to me? How can I feel like this?

Marius didn't read the next line, written in the shakiest letters. _I love her._

Berylla's head was down, and her shoulders shook. Marius had known, in a factual sort of way, of the death of the Sharlayan scholar, but now he understood, as he had not before, how hard that death had hit Berylla.

But still she didn't speak. And the grief he was seeing was an old one, just reawakened by the words he had read aloud. This wasn't the root of what troubled her. Though it was without doubt a wound, he was certain this was not the wound that festered in her heart. He turned his eyes back to the page, and finished reading the letter.

“I wanted to take care of her. Not just last night, but for always. I won't ask her to stop risking her life. It would be asking her to stop being who she is. How did she capture me so thoroughly?”

He waited again, and Berylla spoke, her voice muffled against her hands. “I knew then. I knew I loved him. I knew I needed him. And I knew there would never be anything between us, nothing permanent.”

She looked up at Marius, dropping her hands into her lap. “You know better than I do. Have I ever been married, Marius? Is it even allowed?”

He shook his head. “Do you really want that answer?”

She looked away. “No. Not right now, anyway.” She gestured at the papers still in his hands. “Hold off on those for a minute. I need...a break.”

He waited, as she levered herself up, and went into the little cabin. Minutes passed, before she came back out. Her steps were firmer, though she still leaned on the wall heavily as she carried a blanket over her arm.

She sat closer to him this time, leaning against the big stone he had sat down on. She wrapped the blanket around herself, and shifted around, until her back was against the stone. He could see the top of her head, but not her face, from this angle. He half smiled, knowing she was trying to hide from him, and knowing she was only making it easier for him to read her.

He went on to the next letter.

“Gods damn it, Aymeric. She's ruined me. What's become of me? I don't recognize myself. I'm not a man who _pines_ for someone! But she has the same place in my heart that you do. I love her, and I can't deny it any longer.”

Her intake of breath was almost silent. Marius decided to act as if he hadn't heard.

“There are so many demands on her, so many responsibilities. I won't ask her to commit to me, not least because I couldn't make the same promise in good faith. But I won't burden her with a lover's needs, either. All I can do is keep things as they have been. I can't even write to her, as I do you. I can't tell her how I feel.”

He felt the regret pouring off her in waves, sharp and bitter as aloe. He kept reading, though his voice began to tremble.

“What can I give her, realistically? Nothing. Nothing more than what I've already shared. She needs someone in her life that's steady, not someone like me. You'd be good for her, Aymeric. Gods know, you've steadied me when I needed it. Assuming you ever reach out to her in the first damned place.”

Berylla swore softly. “I'm a gods-be-damned fool. I should have told him then. Should have asked...”

Marius bit his lip – she hadn't hidden herself from him, but because she couldn't see his face, he could relax that much. He wanted, badly, to reach out to her, but he knew the moment wasn't right. Not yet.

“This one, I believe, you've read? She's coming to Ishgard.”

“Yes.”

“Then I shan't repeat what you already read. But I do have a question. What did he mean by you being out of his reach?”

“He meant that because we were wards of his House – basically we were adopted. In his eyes, and I suppose in the eyes of Ishgardian law, I was his sister after that. So even though he could visit the city, he couldn't...we didn't...”

“I see.”

And he did, because it was so very much on her mind. The ache of loneliness – the wound had started here.

“He wrote this when you were taking refuge with him?”

“Yes.”

“I can't imagine you were very happy at that time.”

“I was in the same shape Alphinaud was, just better able to still function.” And he saw the young scholar's face, streaked with tears, saw Berylla holding him tight, heard her words.

“You aren't a coward.”

She gasped and sat up straight, twisting around to stare up at him. He looked away from her, hiding his expression, and forced himself to keep a light tone. “You've always been rather a reckless fool, and often taken on more than you can handle, but you're no coward. That situation was a mess from start to finish, and nothing you could have done to change it.”

“Don't fucking talk to me about what can and can't be changed,” she snapped, her voice harsh with pain. “Don't act like it's all okay because we got some of them back. Y'Shtola will never see again, Thancred is _broken_. We still don't know where in the seven hells Yda and Papalymo even are. And Minfilia's...” She broke off.

Marius shut his eyes. “Yes. I know. I knew when it happened.”

“Why didn't you come find me _then_?” Berylla asked, her voice low. He flinched at the acrid bitterness in her tone.

“I didn't have leave to do so. I go where the Mother sends me.”

“Well Hydaelyn's a bitch, then. It would have hurt less if I hadn't had hopes that we'd get Minfilia back. Not giving me some kind of a hint was flat out cruel.”

“That's not very fair of you.”

“ _FAIR?_ ” She was on her feet, swaying, her fists raised as if she meant to beat him. “Don't fucking talk to me about _fair_ , not today, not when I know good and damned well all that I've lost. How much I've paid, and _paid_ , just so Hydaelyn's champion can continue to serve!”

Marius looked up at her, forcing himself to remain outwardly relaxed, serene. “Do you think it doesn't bother Her?”

“No, I don't think it much does. Why should it? We're nothing but mayflies, we mortals, living for some tiny speck of time and then,” she snapped her fingers, “poof, gone. We mean about as much to her as we do to those damned Ascians.”

“You know that's not true, Berylla. You know it's more complex than that, by far. Your pain is speaking, not your good sense, not the things you _know_ to be true.”

She looked like she wanted to throw a punch, and it was all he could do to keep silent and still.

But at last she took a deep breath, and all at once relaxed. She sank back down, gathering up her blanket, and wrapping it around her shoulders. She was shaking, and her voice trembled badly. “I'm tired,” she told him. “Finish what you started, Marius. Read the rest of them. I want to be done with this.”

He folded up the previous letter, carefully stowing it in the box, and began the next.

“She didn't come back with the others because she was hiding from this. All of it – the betrayal, the repercussions, all the mess. She was here – but she wouldn't accept a room in the keep. She insisted on sleeping outside in the snow. Self punishment.”

He felt, more than saw, her wince. “Aymeric must have sent to Haurchefant asking after me, because I was a day late getting back.”

Marius kept reading. “She cried again last night. She feels helpless, and alone. She told me that she has no past. No future. That no one sane would ever marry her, for gods' sake. She wants _someone_ , but she feels like she only has me. No, not even me, not anymore. She's drowning in responsibility.”

The reaction he felt from her told him what he'd wanted to know. This was the trouble, the center of it. Loss and grief were part of what was costing her so much of her faith, but this was the canker, the true pain that was still bleeding her, slowly, like a gut wound.

“She needs someone she can trust, Aymeric. You know she doesn't trust just anyone with her affections. You know she trusts _you_. Don't drag your damn feet.”

She didn't speak, and he didn't try to provoke her. Instead, he folded up that letter, and prepared to read the last of them.

“Yes, I agree. Those two are the only family she has left, Aymeric. She's feeling protective. She probably _would_ have razed the Tribunal to the ground if we hadn't offered her a different course of action.”

“To what does he refer?” Marius asked, and heard a soft chuckle.

Berylla told him, “Ishgardian law allows a trial by combat for certain things, and I ended up in such a combat. Kicked ass, too.”

“Ah.” Marius turned back to the letter.

“She's grieving. She's enduring. She's lonely as hell. _Stop waiting_ , damn you! When you see your chance, grab it with both hands, and don't let her go. She needs to be loved.”

She was crying again. Marius finished the letter, his hands beginning to shake as her emotions threatened to engulf him.

“I can't be there for her. _You can_. Be for her all that I cannot, Aymeric.”

He barely managed to fold up the letter and stow it. He fumbled the box closed, and set it down. Then he slid down off the boulder and went to his knees beside Berylla.

He gathered her up in his arms. Weeping, she didn't resist him as she normally would. As soon as his fingers touched the bare flesh of her arms, tears sprang to his eyes as well.

Her pain flowed into him. Thorns of grief, tinged with the acid bite of regret. Needle-sharp icicles of loneliness. The numbing weight of depression. Hot coals of rage and frustration, buried beneath the rest.

She didn't need to speak, now that he was touching her. Her soul's whispers were clearer than the light around them.

 _Alone, forever alone. Never anything but a soldier for Hydaelyn. No future. No past. Nothing but a sacrifice, again and again and again. I didn't care, I truly didn't mind. But no one loved me before_.

“You have _always_ been loved,” he said aloud, his voice shaking as he held her tightly. “You know that. The Mother loves you and always has.”

_Not the same!_

“No, it's not. But it's still true. And you _have_ loved before, have been loved before. It was a long time ago even for you.”

 _When? Who? They died because of me, didn't they?_ Her nails sank into his shoulders where she clung to him. _Anyone by my side is a target. Enemies will come for them, if nothing else because they can use those I love to hurt me. No one is safe around me, no one should ever risk being with me. Loving me is what got Haurchefant killed!_

“Stop that this instant,” he said. “That is not how any of this works and you know it. You can love, you can be loved, and you don't have to be alone, Berylla.”

She grew still for a moment, her sobs fading into hiccups. “You said my name.”

He had no defenses against her, not now. He scooped her up in his arms, and carried her inside to lay her on the low bed inside the cabin.

He arranged her as best he could, but when he started to move away, she grabbed his arm. Her eyes were unfocused, her cheeks still wet with tears. But he could feel the desire rising in her.

He knew it wasn't a good idea. But her feelings were so strong, overwhelming. Her lips parted, and before he could stop himself, he was leaning down and kissing her warmly.

His body shuddered as her need washed over him like a tidal wave.

Clothing seemed to melt away in the blazing heat of her kisses, her touch. Her hands were everywhere, demanding, teasing, stroking. _Touch me_ , she demanded, her breath hot against his neck as she set her teeth against the tender flesh.

He obeyed her wordless command, skimming his palms across her breasts, feeling the nipples harden into little pebbles of pure sensation. She fell back, her head tilting to bare her throat, her body arching gently. _More_.

Following his intuition and the cues his own powers gave him, he touched her again, stroking and petting. She gasped and sighed, her body responding fervently to everything he did. He knew she wasn't seeing him – his powers told him that, too. But it didn't matter. Her lust overcame him, became his desire, until both of their bodies vibrated together, like two strings plucked in the same chord.

He felt his voice modulating, transforming to fit the deepest need within her spirit. He let it happen, his flesh quaking as she reacted to hearing the voice of a dead man, the words of one she had loved and lost.

“How I've missed you, my dear.” His hands moved as if they had their own will, and he gave himself up to it, understanding that in some small part, the soul of the departed was borrowing his body for this tiny space of time.

Under him, she cried, calling out that name. “Haurchefant! Haurchefant, please!”

He used his fingers, his mouth, tormenting her slowly, then tipping her over the edge until she screamed that name one more time.

He leaned over her, his member dragging against her belly, and whispered in her ear. “I loved you then, and I will always love you.”

Tears soaked into her hair and she shivered all over. He shifted back, and started to ease himself off the bed, when her hands clutched at him.

 _No...don't go...don't leave me_.

He was helpless to deny her. When she grasped him, stroking his member, he gasped aloud, the pleasure so intense that he winced.

She worked him with her hand, drawing him close to her, her mouth hungry on his. She flipped him onto his back, effortlessly, and pressed him down with her kisses. She trailed kisses down his neck, across his collarbone and then down his chest. Her lips were hot, her fingers cool as she delicately rolled his nipple between her thumb and index finger. He clutched at her, gasping.

 _The things I'm going to do to you_...

She slid down and before he quite knew what she was about, took him inside her mouth.

He clutched at her hair, groaning. His voice still wasn't his, but it wasn't Haurchefant's voice either. Her mind was a chaotic swirl of lust and want, and his cock was the center of her focus. The things she was doing to him scattered his wits and left him panting in pure animal need.

With no more warning than a single moan, he was coming hard into her mouth, hips bucking as she hung on, swallowing rhythmically.

“Gods,” he groaned as she let him go, and he could hear that his voice had changed again. To his astonishment, his cock remained hard as a rock, and he realized _her_ desire was keeping him that way, even as she crawled up his body and speared herself on his throbbing member.

He groaned again, his head thrown back as she reared up, her hands splayed across his chest.

She rode him slowly, her face tilted up toward the ceiling, her hair trailing down her back and just tickling his thighs. Her legs tightened and her breasts bounced, and his hands reached up and caressed her salmon-pink nipples, rolling them as she'd done to him, kneading her breasts.

He could _feel_ what his cock was doing to her, and the combined sensations of both their bodies threatened to send him over the edge. She had no sense of time, as pleasure built inside of her, and for the first time in his existence he felt his power reach out and connect in a way that he'd only thought possible in theory.

She stiffened and cried out as his body's pleasure joined her own, and in seconds she was shuddering, riding his cock harder and harder. Her body tightened on him and he began to come, even as she howled her own release.

Even then his power wasn't done with the two of them, coiling around that pain in her heart and dragging it out as she fell across him, weeping.

 _Never alone_ , he whispered, letting his soul speak to hers. _You will never be truly alone. Savor this, keep it in your heart, and never forget how you are loved. You_ _ **are**_ _meant for life, for peace, for happiness. Serving the Mother was never meant to be a death sentence. You have not failed her, nor your beloved friends. Believe it._

She sobbed, and he rolled her off of him, curling up around her, wrapping her in his arms, in the blanket, in his power.

Gently he showed her the faces of her past, put names to them, let the echoes of those souls drift across her spirit. Her heart, like a long dry creek bed, soaked up the tiny trickles of those memories; as those old wounds closed, the foundations of her mind strengthened. It was like watching a run-down old house rejuvenated, its mortar renewed and its bricks going from crumbling to pristine. He left gaps in the memory-trail, knowing that no mortal mind could truly encompass over ten thousand years of history on such a personal level. But he gave her enough – enough to steady the uncertainty that had grown within her, to quiet the doubts, to leave her with stronger ground to stand on as she went forward.

And adding to all those memories, lacing through them, a persistent motif of that which she craved the most: love. The love she had known and the knowledge that she would know it again. The love she had given and all the fruit it had borne. The love that waited for her between those brilliant, brief lifetimes. Hydaelyn's love...and his own.

She slept in his arms, and he held her close, letting his own tears flow.

Not their first time, this incredible lovemaking – though this was the first time his power had so closely joined them.

He was cursed to live forever near her, but never with her in truth. This would be the only time their bodies twined together in passion, in this life of hers. The only time she knew him, knew his love. And by morning, she would forget most of what had passed between them. It was the price he paid, to watch over her, unchanging and mostly unseen.

His brothers would mock him, if they knew...and then when their mocking laughter died, so would he. They would never suffer him to live as a servant of Hydaelyn. Never forgive him for feeding Her strength and helping to preserve Her champions through the eons.

Champions that had, in the end, sacrificed themselves to save what they could. And would do so again, and again, down through the eons, for as long as they were needed. Berylla was the strongest of them – and for him, she was the only one that mattered.

She was nothing like what she had once been – and yet she was no different than she had ever been. Male, female, Hyur or Elezen or any of the other races – it mattered not.

He knew her, would know her no matter what skin she wore. He had loved her before time began and would love her after time ended. Her true name nestled in his heart, a pearl beyond price, never to be uttered aloud.

He kissed her forehead, and eased himself free of her limbs. She slept on, exhausted, healing.

He gathered his scattered clothes, and took care of prosaic tasks – like washing the dishes, and banking the fire for her. He carefully placed the box of letters back into her pack. The two men who she loved now were lucky beyond their knowing, and he entertained a tiny flash of jealousy, letting it burn through him like a match, and then letting it die away.

 _She is theirs for now. She is mine forever, even if she doesn't know it_.

He whistled to his bird, and left the tiny island.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to show these letters, and I wrestled with how to do so for quite a long time. Hopefully, everything here makes sense!
> 
> Also, if you enjoyed this work or my other works and would like to hang out with a fabulous and feisty bunch of crazy folks - 
> 
> Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club  
> https://discord.gg/8C6ZKTj


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